She welcomed me with warmth and hospitality then warned that before we could get comfortable she had wood to bring in. Why she didn’t forgo her chores until I left, I didn’t ask. I had a soft spot for creative souls on tight schedules.
We descended a narrow staircase to the basement and continued onward through patio doors to a covered lean-to outside. The air smelled of wood chips and sweet dirt. If one cord of wood took up a 4’x4’x8’ space, I estimated that seven cords were stacked in four rows under her post and beam shelter. She was expecting a long cold winter?
“May I help?”
“No way, Professor. This is my only chance to exercise these days.”
She continued talking while throwing birch and fir rounds, halves and quarters into the wheelbarrow. In fact, she talked non-stop. “Talk” pro
